Acquiring the Taste of You
by lovemeartless
Summary: Alfred knew his preferences clearly and they didn't include irate drunk British men. Except when he decided to give in to curiosity and those deliciously red lips… (One-sided AmericaxEngland/USUK)(FrancexEnglandxFrance/UKFr/FrUK Hints)(Warning: NSFW & PWP. Please see complete warnings inside.)(Full explicit version posted on my AO3, not here.)


**Note:** This version is a teaser snippet, since FFnet doesn't allow MA-rated stuff. (Right.)

 **Warnings:** USUK (One-Sided), UKFr/FrUK Hints, NSFW, R18, Uke!England, Uke!Arthur Kirkland, Porn, Yaoi, Hardcore, PWP, Gang Rape, Bondage, Watersports, Lemon Meringue Pie, Mildly Dark Psychological

 **Disclaimer:** Please take time to read the lengthy standard disclaimer on my profile page. It's for all my Hetalia stories, so once you've read it you'll never have to read again. Huzzah!

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Story#106: **  
"Acquiring the Taste of You"**

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He never got drunk. Maybe because he never had a reason to. England however, was another story. He never needed any.

All America really wanted was a milkshake at the nearest golden arches. Or maybe his favourite smoothie, the one with lots of chocolate and whipped cream. His phone rang right before he stepped into his gastronomic wonderland and it was England sounding like he was in some kind of trouble. So being the hero that he is – runs over and makes the mistake of getting on that barstool beside him in the pub.

For the next couple of hours, all the older Nation did was drink himself stupid even more than he already was, and _yak on and on_ _and on…_ about how much he wanted to shove his English boot up France's all too annoyingly French ass. Of course everybody knew by now what a big fat hairy lie that was. Sure they wanted to shove something up each other's ass, just not their boots. There was no news there; Just a lot of _history repeating itself._

America had been planning his escape, lazily eyeing the flickering red light of the backdoor exit which was nearer to where they were seated but still too far for assurance. He was willing to bet his erstwhile overseer wouldn't even notice his absence; England being too caught up in a one-sided argument with his whiskey glass (which he looked like he was losing). Unfortunately, refilled beer mugs landing at intervals in front of him kept blocking his vision of the said exit, thus repeatedly disrupting his momentum. The bespectacled Nation took a long swig of the bubbling drink, lamenting his rotten luck.

If only he hadn't taken a detour he would be home by now watching the latest _hentai_ porn videos Japan lent him… Or playing the latest action-packed, " _guaranteed blood, violence and gore!_ " shooting game in his new video console (which he especially adored because he got to shoot a multitude of zombies without even once having to lift his ass off the seat)… There'd be a giganormous bowl of nachos overflowing with cheddar cheese on his lap and a half-gallon tumbler of fizzy ice-cold cola to go with it. _Ahh, his little version of heaven…_ Of course he could always do with some chips as well; he was sure he had some leftovers stashed somewhere under the couch…

America sighed gloomily, already aching for that comfy worn out couch that cupped his ass so perfectly while he wolfed down all that yummy saturated fat– instead he was forced to endure England's drunken droning. And in that insufferable British accent of his too, _like he *owned the fucking language!_ Chock it up in his list of _'things about the limey that was totally uncool'_. And also one of the reasons he wanted to get away from him so badly. That accent always made him feel stupid trying to sound like him all the time, stuck-up and pompous…

God knows how many hours into the monologue later and America was on the brink of freaking his pants off. He was still going around in circles about 'France this and France that', 'frog face this and frog face that'. He never understood what the deal was with the two much older and supposedly more mature and "wiser" Nations. Everyone knew by now how badly they've always wanted each other (for whatever reason), so why don't they just own up and fuck? _I mean, seriously, right?_ Did old Nations really love making their lives so darn complicated? They should have figured out and resolved their –what Japan and Hungary called: ' _unspent sexual tension_ ', after _forever_ … "It's been a friggin' thousand years!" America grumbled under his breath. " _And they call me stupid…_ "

England was now giving the bar counter a face-full, but amazingly, even having his face flattened didn't slow down his whining one bit. America found himself being hit with wave after wave of unpleasant nostalgia. He's had enough of these speeches and nagging during the time he lived under the Nation's control, and now having to sit and watch how wasted (and so much more annoying) England was getting, was seriously stressing him out. He felt humiliated at even just the memory of being associated with him…

And yet, what a hopelessly vain flirt like France ever saw in England, was to him, one the universe's greatest unsolved and longest running mysteries (also one he didn't give a shit about). _England was England after all_ and well, _France was France_. They just acted the way they did since even before the universe began, why start trying to figure them out now? If two things that didn't make sense to him were attracted to each other, then it should make perfect sense right? England was one of the most unappealing, most un-cute and most undesirable of all the Nations if he had to pick one and give them a "Yawnsville" Award. It was a wonder England could manage to hold France's attention for so long. Heck, he didn't even think France could fall in love with anyone other than his own reflection. And even if he just wanted to get inside the limey's pants, America couldn't fathom why he had to pick _him_ of all people. Even if England turned out to be the "Nation of Amazing Sex" (an idea which made him choke), he still felt even _that_ was not worth a thousand years of wooing, or putting up with England's "charming" personality… or _lack thereof_.

While it was a huge comfort that he knew and never had a doubt about his specific preference in gender (most certainly of the female species), he admitted this put him in a blind spot when it came to the males and couldn't really tell which of them was a looker to whom even if he tried ( _not that he ever did_ ). The French fry however, openly declared his passion for 'beautiful things' regardless of gender. He called himself an ' _ass-teeth_ ' or *' _punsexual_ ' _or something–_ whatever that meant… Some girls from America's fanclub explained to him that it simply meant that France'd pounce on a dog if he thought it was sexy enough (hell America thought _cars were sexy_ , but he's never had the urge to hump one), so maybe it shouldn't come as much of a shock if a queer like France found _whatever_ in England so "attractive".

Just then England went into one of his pirate-style potty-mouth rants when the bartender refused to indulge him any further in his poison. America inwardly applauded the bartender's courage, although he thought it would have been a better idea to have deprived England about an hour ago when he was still somewhat tolerable… At this point, even dogs were starting to look far more desirable.

"Hate tha' frrooog sooo mucchh!" He caught the Nation sputter rather childishly, accidentally tipping over his empty glass.

America rubbed his stiff neck, "Yeah, and I am so _fucking bored_."

"Shwearrr when I get m' hands on him I'll—"

"Ohhh-kaay! Listen, dude! Got this ball game I wanna catch right about now so… y'know… I gotta go. Sorry can't take y'home, too far a'ways, stuff I need t'do. D'ya want me to call France to take y'home?" This earned him a droopy (but still very unnerving) death glare. "Or~ maybe not."

"C'n g'home myshelf thankyeerr verrry much!" England spat, withdrawing from the barstool and miscalculating the step completely, coming close to mopping the floor with his face in the process. Of course the hero's lightning reflexes stopped any such unfortunate accident.

"Whoa, hey take it easy there, old man!"

"Leemmme go!" England swatted at his hands and America drew back, causing the Island Nation to fall flat into his chest.

America stood awkwardly for a few moments, thinking that maybe letting him fall on his face would've been more satisfying. When England did not resurface from the front of his jacket, he looked down and caught England dully staring up at him. America blushed self-consciously as the smaller Nation continued eyeing him intently as if he suddenly couldn't remember who he was. It wasn't just the staring, but the awkward position they were in that bothered him –how England's face was practically nose to nose with his. It was these very cliché situations that were bound to make people get the wrong ideas… And yet as England peered up at him, he couldn't help notice the bright flecks of gold in the eyes of his erstwhile governor; they seemed to twinkle faintly amidst the alcohol-fogged green haze… he's never noticed it before.

America cleared his throat, trying to break the moment. "W-What?" was all he managed to utter as he looked away.

England gave a disdainful snort as he pushed himself off. "Nothing. Your eyes're… differrheent…"

America laughed a hollow laugh. England was slurring incoherently at but he understood enough to bet they were still on the same topic. It wasn't the first time he was duped into being pinch-hitter for the Frenchman in their fond little game of hide-and-seek… like every single time before, he loathed it.

He heaved the other off of him completely, intent on getting England home one way or the other. And whether the Island Nation 'fancied' the idea or not, he was calling France to do it. He never did learn how to cope with a disgruntled and very much drunk England, mainly because he didn't want to. France on the other hand, was an expert at it by now. Besides, he wasn't going to risk being seen carrying another man home. He was the hero after all, with a reputation to keep. He couldn't have dubious rumors starting about his sexuality.

He reached into England's breast pocket for his phone (he didn't keep France's number), but before he could press the 'call' button, the device is slapped out of his grasp by England – who was giving him another withered accusatory look.

"Hey!" America bellows unappreciatively. But just then, England swayed clumsily and once again stumbled into him. Caught off guard he almost loses his footing but manages to grab the edge of the bar for leverage. Before he could recover, however, he finds himself sandwiched between the counter and… _England's lips._

For a few moments, he was too shocked to move. Then England pulled himself off first, blinking dizzily.

"What the hell man?!" America shrieked freaking out of his innocent hero mind.

"Well ex'cuuussse you me! Were those your lipsss?!" says England with surprising clarity. "Now I know whut it's like t'kiss a hamburger!"

"That's it limey, time to go home!" America barked heatedly, roughly shoving England away. There was a distant ringing in his ears for some reason, but he chose to ignore it at the moment; He had to find that phone and get France, _now_.

It took him a couple of minutes crawling around looking under tables (and getting kicked several times too) before he spotted the device. He finds France's number on speed dial and hurriedly explains the 'emergency' to his answering machine, ending with a high-pitched, not too panicked 'puuhhhleeaase _come and get him!_ '. Sighing in exasperation, he made his way back to the bar. If France doesn't get his message soon enough, he'll have to haul England's drunken ass home himself, which he totally wasn't up for; with his mind locked on to being reunited with his double burgers, fries, chips, candy bars and— you get the idea…

"Handssshh off, y'bloooody wwhankerrrs!" England's voice rang out. America groaned as he followed the sound and saw where the Island Nation was.

For some reason (America certainly didn't really think it was due to his ' _tiny_ ' push), England appeared to have crashed into a nearby table, upturning it and its contents. The three men who were seated there didn't look like they were taking it very well… They were holding up a very tipsy England, ogling at him hungrily as though he were a prized tuna they couldn't wait to sink their teeth into.

"This one's quite the catch eh?" One of them sniggered, tilting up the struggling Nation's face for a closer inspection. "Tell ya' whut. If you make it up ta us for spillin' our drinks, we might think twice about smashing in that pretty face of yours!" All three men guffawed at that, tightening their hold.

England gasped and spluttered as a beer bottle's remaining contents were tipped ceremoniously over his head. That didn't help of course, as he was already sopping wet with what America guessed was beer. Hands were already over the Nation's chest, tweaking the taut nubs there which stood out plainly through the soaked flimsy fabric. One had begun caressing his backside, giving it a loud slap.

England yelped, trying to kick at them as he spat curses, but he was much more easily overwhelmed in his drunken state. "G-Get offf you… aahh!" Strangled gasps followed as one of his nipples disappeared from view into one of the men's mouths. Another hand had found its way to his groin and grabbed the growing bulge there, squeezing with gusto.

"Now, now, we don't want to waste perfectly good beer do we boys?" one of them drawled suggestively and began to lick the dripping liquid off England's neck, the others following suit wherever their tongues could reach, one of them finding the Nation's mouth.

"S-Sto— mmpphh-aahh!"

America found himself gawking. One part of him knew he should jump in and save the day right about now, but the hero in him seemed to be just as dumbstruck as the rest of him; The rest of him that was glued to the spot horror-struck, not wanting any involvement. Of course, it was also largely due to the sudden intense heat mounting in the middle of his pants, telling him to enjoy the show. And he did, half amused and half horrified as the three burly men overpowered a very drunk and flustered England, hands roaming and squeezing everywhere.

…

 **To be continued...  
** (Read the continuation & conclusion over at my AO3 account: **https:** [double slash] **archiveofourown**. **org** [slash] **users** [slash] **MariekoWest** yo!)

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(2012/10/21 - 2013/01/31)

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 **Original post:** LM_Artless {AO3}

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 **MariekoWest** {AO3}{FFnet}{Dreamwidth}


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